


hoMe

by 8ucky8arnes



Series: fragMents [12]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Comforting Clarice, F/M, Fever, Hurt John, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ucky8arnes/pseuds/8ucky8arnes
Summary: Marcos glanced up as she sat down. “Hey.”“Hey. Any change?”He shook his head.She rested her chin in her uninjured hand, eyes drifting to the edges of the too-white bandages as she watched every rise and fall of his chest. Clarice hated seeing him like this, so delirious with pain that he didn’t know where he was or who he was with…





	hoMe

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially my longest chapter of this series because wow...that episode was intense. It was good to see them all working together even if it took something horrible happening. Hope you all enjoy and until next time!

Clarice brushed a strand of hair off his face, his normally warm skin flushed and burning to the touch. Her vision blurred with tears as he turned away from her, the mattress tearing under his hands as they curled into fists. She tried to keep her hand pressed to his cheek, to let him know that he was safe…that he was home, “I’m right here, John. I’m right here.”

His response was a broken whimper in a language not remotely English.

She pulled back as he started to thrash, the bedside table breaking as his arm swung out.

Zingo jumped off the bed, whining as she pushed her nose into Clarice’s hand.

Clarice pressed her other hand to her mouth as a sob slipped out, the tears spilling over as she stayed out of arm’s reach. God, she wanted nothing more than to hold him, the comb her fingers through his hair, to soothe him through his feverish nightmare, but she couldn’t do a damn thing now but watch him suffer.

He’d refused the painkillers so vehemently it’d surprised Caitlyn, but then he’d looked her with eyes glazed over in pain and the beginnings of a fever… _pleading_ with her to do the same regardless of how bad it got or how much it would hurt him...and her.

John calmed after a couple seconds, falling back onto the bed.

She eyed the spots of red spreading through the bandages, lifting the edge to peer under it when she saw the blood coating her fingers. Clarice pulled her hand away, head snapping up to look at John’s face to find the source of the bleeding and frowning when she saw that the cuts on his face were already scabbed over…

Then he turned his head and she saw his ear.

Her hand trembled as she reached out, fingers smearing the half-dried blood…

“Oh, John…” She choked out as she took one unsteady step back, then another, shaking her head. Her lungs burned as she sobbed, the lump in her throat making the very act of pulling in air a chore, “God, what did they do to you?”

He groaned, one hand reaching out, grasping at nothing…

Clarice stumbled forward, broken from her panic when she saw his features twist in pain and fear and the tears trickling the sides of his face. He was gasping, struggling to breath, crying out in that unfamiliar language and without thinking, she reached out to take his hand…

His fingers closed around her wrist before she realized her mistake, a choked scream slipping out as he started to squeeze. John was deaf to the pain he was inflicting, still pleading and begging incoherently even as her skin bruised.

“John, it’s me!” She forced out, trying to ignore the feeling of bones grinding as she tried and failed to pull away, “It’s me, it’s Clarice!” The agony brought her to her knees, but she continued to speak, to try to get through to him, “John!”

“Clarice!” Caitlyn’s surprised voice came from behind her, “Lauren! Marcos, get in here now!”

The pain was excruciating and Clarice was faintly aware of the flurry of activity as Lauren held John down or the heat of Marcos’ glowing hand as he grabbed John’s wrist in turn, slumping back into Caitlyn when he finally let go.

“Clarice, look at me. Clarice!” Caitlyn hands cupped her face, “Just look at me.”

“I’m sorry.” She cried, body shaking, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, don’t be sorry. Don’t be…” She helped Clarice stand as she turned to her daughter and Marcos, “Keep an eye on him, let me know if anything changes.” Her hand held her uninjured arm gently, “Let’s get you to kitchen alright? I need to look at that hand.”

She bit down on her lip as each step sent a flash of pain up through her arm and Clarice refused to look at it as Caitlyn guided her to one of the barstools, tasting blood as she slowly climbed into it and sat down, keeping her arm cradled against her chest.

“I need you to lift your arm and put it on the counter.”

Clarice hesitated at first, trying to go slow but all that did was make the throbbing more constant… _screw it_. She lifted her arm up and straightened it the best she could before resting on the cool table, jaw clenched at the rush of movement brought black spots at the edges of her vision. “Damnit.” She ground out as Caitlyn began gently prodding it, “ _Shit_ that hurts.”

“It doesn’t look or feel broken…” she muttered, “Can you feel your fingers?”

“Yes.” She hissed, “Yes, I can.”

Caitlyn reached behind her, grabbing the large black case that constituted as a first aid kit from the jeeps and pulling out a roll of bandages and small metal clips before rummaging in the fridge and pulling out a bag of frozen peas, “Well good news is, it’s not broken…just a bad sprain.”

Clarice nodded. “Bad news?”

“To avoid worsening the injury, I would refrain making portals for at least a week.” Caitlyn frowned, placing the frozen vegetables over the bruised skin. “But I’ll need to get some of the swelling down before I wrap it. Keep this on while I go check on John.”

Clarice caught her wrist, “Checks his ears? I saw blood.”

Caitlyn’s expression was grim and she went to look, kit in hand.

Marcos came out moments later, “How’s the hand?”

“Caitlyn says badly sprained wrist.” Her shoulders loosened as the cold began to numb the injured area, feeling the heat of Marcos as he sat down next to her. She let out a long breath, not looking up, “God, how could I have been so _stupid_?”

“Clarice…”

“I left you guys. I left _John_ and look at what they did…”

“Hey.” He squeezed her shoulder, forcing her to look at him, “Clarice…”

She motioned to her hand, eyes swimming with tears. “And now this…I’m lucky he didn’t break it.” Her laugh was hollow, “As if he isn’t blaming himself for everything else as it is and here I go, adding onto it…”

“Look, I’m not going to argue about John’s hero complex. I’ve know him too long for that, but what I am going to tell you is this and you’re going to listen…” his gaze was intense and piercing, “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. None of it.”

She blinked at him.

“John would tell you the same thing, hypocrite that he is.”

“He did.” Her voice cracked, remembering the look in his eyes as she’d wrapped him up in the back of the jeep, how he’d leaned into her gentle touch like he’d been starved, his small smile as she rested her forehead against his…

_You saved me…_

“And you’ll have a hard time saying otherwise.” Marcos’ voice broke into the memory, his expression almost fond despite everything. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, he’s pretty damn stubborn when he wants to be.”

Clarice let out a small snort.

Marcos looked down at your hand, “And as for the wrist…it’ll heal.”

She raised a brow, “That’s all you got?”

“In the grand scheme of things…it’s minor.” He glanced back at the bedroom, “You’re alive, Clarice…you and John both. Whatever happens now, I know you’ll both get through it all and be stronger for it.”

“But he almost wasn’t. _”_ Clarice failed to bite back the words, to push away the image of John chained and bleeding out of her mind or the tray of guns and power tools gleaming ominously in the dim lighting… What would’ve happened if they been just a minute later? Would there have been anyone left to save? “One more shot and he would’ve been…”

Marcos gathered her into his arms, his warmth doing little to push back the numbness as she began to sob. He held her as tightly as he could given her injured, icing arm, hand moving up and down her back as he murmured into her hair, “But he isn’t. He’s going to be okay. Focus on that and only on that, okay?”

She nodded, eyes closing as he kissed the top of her head.

He pulled back as Caitlyn and Lauren came out, “I’ll go sit with him.”

The woman came out, tossing the dirtied bandages before washing her hands in the sink while Lauren pulled out a small pair of scissors and bottle of ibuprofen to set alongside the bandages her mother had already grabbed earlier, dropping two white tablets into her palm and holding them out.

Clarice caught her gaze for a split second as she took the pills, not sure what there was to say. She’d seen the look in Andy’s eyes when he turned on the Purifier, the loud _crack_ of breaking bone heard from where she stumbled under John’s weight. There were no words that could lessen the horror and the grief of watching someone you love become unrecognizable…

Caitlyn handed her a glass of water, waiting until she’d swallowed the pills before lifting the frozen peas off, feeling the bones of her wrist and hand before straightening out her fingers and unrolling the gauze.

Clarice watched Caitlyn as she wrapped her hand, noting the haunted look in her eyes as she did so. She remembered John donning the same look on the ride back, like whatever had been done to him in that compound had hollowed him out…left him empty… “Caitlyn?”

The woman blinked, “Yes?”

“His ears?”

"If I had to guess, his enhanced senses are probably known to anyone who looks at his file. With what I saw, it looks as though they used either loud noises or music to…torture him. With his healing factor, there won't be lasting damage but I imagine that his ears are still ringing in the least. Did he say anything about a headache or a migraine?"

She raised a brow, “What do you think?”

Caitlyn sighed, "Well…just try to make a little noise as possible. Keep that wrist elevated and loosen it if you need to."

“Thank you Caitlyn…and I’m sorry.”

She forced a small smile, “I’ll be out on the couch.”

Clarice watched her and Lauren leave, sighing as the door shut.

She slid off the barstool and made her way back to their bedroom, observing Marcos as he crouched on the other side of the bed, leaving the chair open for her as he applied lukewarm compresses to John’s flushed face and neck while murmuring to him in Spanish.

John didn’t react to her entrance, still moving fitfully with fever.  

Marcos glanced up as she sat down. “Hey.”

“Hey. Any change?”

He shook his head.

She rested her chin in her uninjured hand, eyes drifting to the edges of the too-white bandages as she watched every rise and fall of his chest. Clarice hated seeing him like this, so delirious with pain that he didn’t know where he was or who he was with…

“He told you about the pills…didn’t he?”

Clarice sucked in a sharp breath, “He talked to you about…?”

“He didn’t have to.” Marcos’ expression fell, “I was still new to the Underground when our first safe house was hit…it was a massacre. One little girl named Lucy was covered in these…bone spikes that would shoot from her skin,” He dipped the rag back into the bowl, squeezing out some of the water, “She’d just watched one of her siblings get cut down and John went to shield her right as she released them.”

She shuddered at the image.

"She turned him into a pin cushion." Marcos' swallowed thickly, "It took Lorna and me nearly an hour to pull them all out and no matter how much we pushed him or how bad it got, he staunchly refused anything to make it easier. It wasn't the first time he'd refused medication and Lorna had just assured me he was stubborn, although I suspect she knew as well, but I knew there was more because he had this…look in his eyes then."

Clarice watched something flicker in his gaze.

“You work with the cartel long enough, you learn what that look means.”

She dropped her head, an invisible hand squeezing her chest. “Does he know that you…?”

Marcos shook his head, pressing the washcloth to his forehead, “No and he doesn’t need to because it wouldn’t change anything. I will never see him as anything less than a tough son of a bitch with a heart of gold and a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

Clarice smiled, “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

“Here I thought I was just a pain in the ass.”

She grinned. “I mean, you are but…”

Marcos chuckled, straightening with a groan and picking up the bowl and washcloth. He came around the end of the bed and placed them in her lap. “I’ll leave you two alone…if you need anything, I’ll be next door.”

“Thank you, Marcos…I know having Lorna around was hard.”

His expression dimmed, “Getting him back was worth it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Clarice nodded, waiting until the door of the apartment shut before she reached down to pick up the washcloth. She was careful to balance the bowl on her thighs while she squeezed the washcloth out as much as she was able with her only working hand.

The time passed relatively slowly as the water got colder and colder and John’s breathing became a lot less labored, the lines of pain on his face smoothing out as he finally fell into a much-needed dreamless sleep.

She was exhausted and all Clarice wanted was to curl into his side, but that currently wasn’t an option so she just pulled the chair up as close to the edge of the bed as she could get. Grabbing a pillow she propped up her wrapped hand on it before folding her arm underneath her cheek, falling asleep to the sound of John’s steady breathing…

…

Clarice awoke to a muffled crash from the bathroom, finding herself lying in the bed…alone.

She went to reach for the lamp before she realized it was broken on the floor.

Clarice slid off the other side of the bed and shuffled through the pitch black bedroom toward the crack of light coming from the slightly ajar door, trying to shove down the fear knotting her stomach as she got closer without another sound.

Remembering his still healing ears, she tried to make as little noise as possible as she pushed it open with her good hand. She winced as the hinges squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper as she poked her head around the corner, “John?”

He was leaning heavily against the wall, having removed his old bandages by hand. A fresh white roll of gauze and elastic wrapping laid on the floor along with what looked the mirror cabinet door, probably the source of the sound. John turned his head toward her.

She bit back a sigh, “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“John…”

“I was just getting in the shower.” He didn’t move, “I’ll be fine.”

“The new renovations say otherwise.” She stepped into the bathroom, “Let me help.”

“Clarice.” He finally turned those dark eyes on her. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t the edge in his voice that stop her in her tracks, but the emotions lingering far back in his gaze. He was ashamed or maybe embarrassed? Neither was one she’d seen from him before and that concerned her. _What had happened to him in that compound?_

She shoved the question from her mind, “I’m not leaving you again.”

He tried for a smile, “I think I can manage a shower.”

Clarice nudged the bathroom door shut with her foot, leaning back against it with a raised eyebrow, “Well, I’m staying right here. So we can either stand here arguing all night or you can strip and get in the tub.”

He pursed his lips.

She smirked, “I can join you if that’ll make it easier.”

He frowned, expression clouded, “Clarice…”

“I’m sorry. That was…poor timing.” She worried her lip, “But seriously…just let me help.”

His eyes drifted to her wrapped hand, jaw clenching.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t put my stupidity on you.”

“Clarice…”

“No matter how many times you say my name like that I’m not going to leave.” She softened both her expression and her voice, smiling at him fondly despite everything. “So am I allowed to help or would you rather do it alone?”

The last word sparked that empty look once again, his eyes looking straight through her as he swayed a little on his feet and Clarice shuddered. She made herself approach him slowly, like he was some wounded animal backed into a corner. She didn’t like making that comparison in regards to him… “John, you still with me?”

He blinked, coming back instantly, “Yeah.”

“Do you want my help?”

For a moment, he looked like he was about to disagree before he nodded.

“Alright.” She smiled, walking around him to turn on the shower as scalding as she could manage before drawing the curtain closed. Clarice had a hard time ignoring the large bruises covering the entirety of his back as she stripped before helping him undress and step under the water.

John stood still and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

This allowed Clarice to carefully clean his body with the first bottle she grabbed, which turned out to be her own body wash. Her vision blurred with tears when she went to wash his hair, John flinching whenever she got near his ears. She very nearly paused when she saw his chest, hands gentle as she washed around the small, angry open wounds, remembering his screams as Lorna pulled the pellets out…

His hand reached up to cup her face, “Clarice, look at me.”

She blinked up at him through the water and the tears.

Those dark eyes had a clarity to them that she hadn’t seen since she’d left him at the clinic. There was no anger or guilt or pain clouding it as he gazed at her, his thumb brushing over the mark under her eye, “I love you.”

Now she was the unsteady one, heart pounding in her ears. While he’d never said those words specifically, she’d always known his feelings. They came screaming through every action he did, every look, every touch, every kiss…but _God,_ she didn’t think she’d ever get a chance to hear him speak those words with that intensity in his eyes… “John…”

“I know I haven’t shown that recently…” His expression shifted for only a moment, that familiar guilt reappearing as he combed back the hair plastered to her face, his palm resting against her pulse, “I’m sorry that I said all the horrible things to you at the clinic, I never meant any of it. You know that, right?”

She pushed herself onto her tiptoes, her unwrapped hand using his shoulder as leverage to press her lips to his. Despite the hot water and soap that turned their skin flushed and wet, she didn’t feel the urge to anything more than just _hold_ him.

His eyes slipped closed with a sigh as she finally pulled back to breath, pressing his forehead against hers while fingers trailed down the curve of her spine with just the barest amount of pressure. “ _God_ , I don’t deserve you.”

She swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears, “Come on, let’s get dried off.”

He nodded wordlessly.

Clarice bent to turn the water off, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself and stepping out she could support him as he stepped over the edge of the tub. She handed him a towel while she picked the supplies off the floor as well as grab another towel from under the sink to gently dry off his back and chest and she was relieved to find that most of the bleeding had stopped as she began to wrap him up, a hand on his hip as much to keep the wrapping in place as to reassure herself that he was still _here_ with her. _Alive._ He was _home…_

He kept himself still the entire time, just watching her.

Any other day, she might’ve made a comment about the holes he was burning into the side of her head but as she brought the white bandages over his shoulders like one of his stupid tight tank tops and she found herself smiling at the familiar irritation coloring the thought.

After multiple assurances, she left him to grab a change of clothes when she saw Caitlyn stripping the sheet and pulling on new ones. Clarice suddenly remembered that the woman hadn’t actually left the apartment…

Caitlyn smiled warmly… _motherly_ , “Are you both good?”

“Yeah and…thanks. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“It feels good to actually _do_ something.” She motioned to the chair that looked as though it had been turned into a makeshift bedside table, where two white tablets and four bottles of Gatorade sat, “I left you some ibuprofen and Gatorade. Make sure he drinks at least two.”

“I will, now go back to Lauren and Reed. They need you too.”

Caitlyn’s expression faltered before she nodded, “I’ll check on you both in the morning?”

“Yes.” She smiled at the woman sadly, “ _Go_.”

It wasn’t until the front door of the apartment shut that John finally came out of the bathroom, something unreadable in his eyes for only a moment before it disappeared. She made no comment on it as she help him into shorts and pulled on one of his shirts before forcing an open Gatorade into his hand, “You heard Caitlyn, drink.”

He obediently finished two while she took her ibuprofen and pulled back the sheets.

She turned off the lights and waited until he’d found a comfortable position before joining him, drawing the comforter and sheets up over them. Clarice tucked herself against his side, resting her bandaged hand on his chest and closing her eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, you know.”

His lips curled against her skin, “I know.”

She blinked back the tears as his hold on her tightened and she nearly laughed as she felt Zingo curl herself into a ball by their feet. The moment felt so surreal, like this was a dream and she would wake up to an empty bed and hollow chest, but she pressed herself closer to him and the scent of her body wash lingering on his skin was like a balm when she took a deep breath.

For now, they were safe…they were home.

That was all that mattered.


End file.
